The rose and the sunflower.
The girl with the golden eyes and the boy with a golden heart.
The girl that believed love was just a fairytale and the boy that believed fairytales are just stories waiting to come true.
'I used to think love was a point...
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merry christmas!! update 1/4
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June 2020, Italy
"Should we just keep driving?"
I bite my lip anxiously and look at Harry. "I don't know! Why are you asking me?" I feel very pressured to give him a definitive answer when he looks at me, so I say, "You're the one behind the wheel."
He looks at the road, though driving at barely 20 km/h, then gives me a second glance before slightly speeding up again. "You're the one who said the engine sounds weird."
"Because it does!" I groan, swearing too as I'm almost certain I hear that absolutely-not-normal sound again.
Harry sighs, clearly not hearing the same thing as me because he goes, "It sounds fine to me, love."
"Because you are deaf!" I exclaim.
He scoffs. "Okay, now you're just being rude."
I huff and let my head fall back against my seat. "I hope it rains," I tell him, knowing it'll piss him off because he doesn't want to be driving for hours in the rain.
"Why would you say that?" Harry's posture straightens. "It's overcast already and you just spoke that into the world. Now it's going to rain and I'll have to drive through it."
Recently, Harry has had this thing about me 'speaking things into the world' because three times, coincidentally, I've said something and then it happened. Essentially, he thinks I'm a witch and that I can manifest things into reality.
"That's the point, baby."
"I hate you so much."
Uncontrollably, I start to laugh at him. He gives me such side-eye that I have to say, "Oh, calm down. If it rains, we'll just find a place to pull over. Or I'll drive instead. It'll be fine."
He audibly sighs. "I really hope it doesn't rain. You have the passports right?"
If Harry gave me a dollar instead of asking me if I have the passports, I'd be so much less annoyed right now because that would mean I'm twelve thousand dollars richer. Okay, maybe not that much, but the point is he needs to stop asking me if I have the passports every two seconds. "Yes, Harry, I have the—" I begin my automatic response when I realise this time I do not, in fact, have the passports. "Wait," I pause instead of telling him that bit of information.
"What?" Harry asks calmly, completely unaware of the mini-freak-out I am about to endure.
"They were right here." I mutter to myself, now searching my purse in an absolutely chaotic manner.
"You lost our passports?" He immediately catches on.
"No! Just give me a sec."
Where the fuck are they? I put them back in my bag and then put my bag on the floor right by my feet.
